According to the United States Bureau of Labor Statistics, 9,730 people currently work as livestock handlers (cowboys). Of these, 3,290 are listed in the subcategory of spectator sports, which includes rodeos and circuses.
That leaves roughly 6440 legit working cowboys. In other words, since the invention of barbed wire fences, there are several times as many dudes wearing cowboy hats as a singing costume than there are real cowboys.
Now just imagine they all chose to wear fireman helmets instead. THAT is how ridiculous they all actually look, except for our desensitization to it as something so commonplace.
Sometimes–not often, but sometimes–it’s an artist’s so-called “side project” that resonates more with a particular listener than their “day job” band. For instance, as respected as Steven Wilson’s Porcupine Tree is in contemporary prog circles, his work with Aviv Geffen in Blackfield means much more to me personally. Punk band The Bronx never made any connection with me until they made a mariachi album.
I’ll give you a second to absorb that last sentence.
Brothers Josh and Dan Ballard make up two-thirds of Until June, a band in which stratospheric vocals are matched with dramatic arrangements for an almost Coldplay-esque brand of hyperemotive pop. They are (or were) a fine band, and one which deserved wider popularity. Check them out here.
But the Ballards have produced music under at least two other brands. And it’s with brother Dan’s material issued under the banner of My Dead Air that I’m truly smitten.
It’s almost too good to believe the way a series of gently beguiling melodies follow one after another in unbroken succession on these too-obscure releases. Perfect for (among other moments) the bedtime hour, My Dead Air has been singing me to sleep for two weeks straight now, and as much as I like variety in my music selection nothing seems to be able to displace them.
Maybe the fact that this is more of a lark than a stab at stardom is the secret formula here. Where Until June’s music is driving, sweeping, almost melodramatic, with soaring vocals and kettle drum percussion for added gravitas (all things I love about the band by the way) this is the flipside of that band’s melodic pop personality: understated, with a relaxed vocal delivery and a soothing sound–almost lullaby-soft at times. The melodies bring to mind a few of the more haunting tunes on Ben Folds Five’s Reinhold Messner LP–high praise by my reckoning.
If this isn’t the music with which Ballard can break big on a major label, then I’m grateful for the secondary outlet of this side project. For me at least, My Dead Air has proved to be the most richly rewarding of his work.
Tom Lehrer, who just turned 85, has mathematics degrees from Harvard and a wit that can’t be taught. Combine it with some serious musical talent and you have a guy who can give a lesson that feels more like entertainment, which is why he was featured on public television’s The Electric Company in the 1970’s. Here he spins your head with “The New Math”, looking for solutions among the convolutions.
Until 20 seconds ago, I’d always assumed singer-songwriter Ron Sexsmith was from England. He’s actually Canadian.
If many of our last names–such as Baker, Hunter, Shepherd, Miller–originated from our ancestors’ professions, I’d like to know a little about this guy’s great great great grandfather.
Ron Sexsmith’s talents have won praise from such songwriting luminaries as Paul McCartney, John Hiatt and Elvis Costello in much the same way that the Beatles once name-dropped Harry Nilsson as a lesser-known artist worthy of more attention.
Although the production on Sexsmith’s 11th LP (by Metallica/Motley Crue producer Bob Rock) brings his talents to the fore a little more than on past records, the quality of the songwriting hasn’t changed. It’s melodic tunes with catchy choruses and heart-touching sentiments delivered by a guy with a touch of melancholy in his voice–just what his fans have come to expect.
“Late Bloomer” is an anthem of resiliency for underdogs everywhere. If no one’s singing along to your song, don’t forget there’s always a side 2 to life!
It’s just a stone’s throw From here to eternity From the back roads To where I long to be The world has changed Leaving only the truth intact You think it’s a game To me it means more than that
But I’m a late bloomer I’m a slow learner And I’ve turned the record over I’m a long player My song is my saviour I’ve got to raise it up As far as my spirit can reach That everyone might see
Within earshot Of rose-coloured dreamers at best I don’t mean to eavesdrop It’s just part of my job I guess At one glance They don’t know the truth by half How announcing your plans Is a sure way to hear god laugh
Like a crab apple on the tree They’ll find life more bitter than sweet
But I’m a late bloomer I’m a slow learner And I’ve heard the penny drop I’m a small player With a tall order To come out on top And without selling my soul That everyone might know That I’m a late bloomer
From a turntable to a phone From a revolution to a ring tone
I’m a late bloomer I’m a slow learner And I’ve turned the record over I’m a long player My song is my saviour Got to raise it up
I’m a late bloomer I’m a slow learner And I’ve heard the penny drop I’m a small player With a tall order To come out on top And without selling my soul That’s how a flower grows And I’m a late bloomer I’m a late bloomer
The band’s name comes from co-founding member Kenn Jankowski’s high school mascot. The origin of their sound is more difficult to pin down; it’s a hybrid indie folk with electronic touches adding color. And they come up with the kind of sticky melodies that earn a lot of repeat listens.
From They Might Be Giants’ latest album, Nanobots.
Directors David Cowles and Jeremy Galante have perfectly matched the absurd humor of songwriters John Flansburgh and John Linnell in their animated depiction of that guy everyone warns you not to be.
Every Moment Has A Song 